


100 Ways To Say I Love You [Part 1]

by midnightcas



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 100 Ways to Say I Love You Writing Challenge, Adorable Isaac, Alpha Derek, Anxiety, Architect Derek Hale, Breaking Up & Making Up, Comforting Derek, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Derek Uses His Words, Derek is a Softie, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hale Family Feels, Hurt Allison, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Lazy Mornings, M/M, Monster of the Week, Mutual Pining, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Out of Character, Pack Family, Post-Nogitsune, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Derek, Researcher Stiles, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Scott is a Bad Friend, Sleepy Boys, Slow Build, Stiles Has Panic Attacks, Stiles Takes Care Of The Pack, Tired Stiles Stilinski, Worried Derek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-10-22 11:30:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10696110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightcas/pseuds/midnightcas
Summary: Derek and Stiles find 99 ways to say I love you before actually having to say the words.





	1. "Pull over. Let me drive for a while."

**Author's Note:**

> Hey Guys!!
> 
> So this is the beginning of a long road!! I came across the old Tumblr post "100 Ways To Say I Love You" and of course immediately thought of our favorite duo. I'm rapidly approaching finals, so expect a lot of procrastination chapters in the near future.
> 
> It's mostly a bunch of short drabbles or ficlets that link together in a sequential order for (kind of) a plot.
> 
> I hope you like it!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Do you even know how to drive stick?”  
> Derek raised an eyebrow at him, “Did you forget that I drive a Camaro?”  
> “You drive a Mom car.”

Stiles ran his fingers through his greasy hair. It had been days since his last shower. He couldn’t even remember that last time he had eaten something that wasn’t a hot pocket as he poured over files upon books upon scrolls of halfass translated bestiary shit. And sleep? An absolutely foreign concept. He could sleep when he was dead. Which, evidently, could be very soon if he didn’t find out what was causing this mysterious illness that had already taken out six kids, all around his age. It was hard to catch, as the symptoms were as basic as the common colds’. First congestion and nausea. Then the fever. It would start out pretty low, barely registering until it was hot enough to be dangerous. Last but not least...and the absolute kicker, is that they start spouting black goo. Yes, _thee_ black goo. And that was the only lead on that they had at the moment. That six kids were dead and that it was somehow tied into the supernatural. He groaned as he allowed his eyes a break from the bright computer screen and turned towards on of the faded scrolls Deaton had shoved into his arms yesterday afternoon with an ever placid, “this may help” before turning back to whatever vet project he had at hand. Stiles cracked his neck and sighed. The words were beginning to waver and he felt his mind begin to drift off into fantasy land. He was about to finally turn in, albeit on his desk, when his Spotify playlist ended and continued on to his next one, his mind picking up on the silence and refocusing himself automatically. He shook his head, trying to fully clear his head when his ears picked up on what was actually flowing through his speakers. Coleman Hell _2 Heads._ And fuck yes, he loves this song. He immediately began to hum along to it with a renewed sense of energy that only music could bring.

“ _There must be something in the water. There must be something ‘bout your daughter, she said_ ,” he trailed off, mouth openly gaping as his thoughts caught up with his brain, “There must be something in the water,” he repeated, “Oh my God. The water. Holy shit!”

He jumped out of his seat and curved so he could type into the search bar.

“Fuck.”  
  
He reached for his phone, and dialed the last person he had texted, “Derek?”

“What? Is everything okay?”

“I figured it out. It’s trying to transform them. The goo!”

“You’re not making any sense. Slow down.”

“It’s a fuath, like a kelpie.”

“What is?”  
  
“The thing that’s been _killing people_ , Derek. I’m on my way over. Call the pack.”

“It’s three in the morning.”

“Yeah, well evil waits for no man...or wolf. _Call the pack_ ,” he reiterated before hanging up and flailing into his jacket and searching for his shoes.

 

He made it to the loft in record time. Jackson pulled up behind him with Isaac on the car and he saw Scott coming down the road on his bike. He didn’t bother with greetings. He scurried up small driveway and into the building. The three of them piled into the the elevator and waited for it to hit the top floor before stumbling out. Even in the early hours of the morning Erica still looked flawless and Stiles told her as such. It was an a testament to how tired she still really was when she allowed a blush to dance across her cheeks before hiding it with a wink and a cheeky kiss blown his way. He dropped the heavy book on the table in front of the window, smirking when Peter jumped at the noise.

 

An hour later half the pack was knee deep in the pond, now black while the other half was nursing their wounds on the land. The thing had been furry. And webbed. And it smelt like dirty gym socks. Or at least, that was what Stiles had thought he smelled when the thing threw him across the clearing like a rag doll. Scott had made a disgruntled noise and charged it. It took a decent while to take the thing down, but it’s death didn’t require anything extra like wolfsbane or the tears of a phoenix or whatever. The blood had diluted the entire water now. The whole pond was black as sin and they all looked down at it in disgust. They had almost lost Erica and Jackson. The thing’s claws ripping through them, cutting them into pieces. Stiles had run over to patch them up as best as possible with their guts spilling out. There were tears and curse words, but they eventually healed enough for Stiles to stop freaking out. Now Boyd and Lydia were fussing over them, holding them tightly and trying to calm down. It had not been a pretty picture for a while.

“It was trying to turn people you said?” Allison asked, nose wrinkled at the water as she shouldered her bow.

Stiles nodded, “It wanted to build it’s own pack, I’m assuming. Or something like that. And it couldn’t get out and actually bite people or whatever these things do, so it poisoned the water. The people who died just didn’t take to the change.”

“Nice work, bro,” Scott smiled at him, careful to keep his distance, as he was soaked through with said water.

Stiles threw him an easy grin, but all he was thinking about was his bed. Ugh. And a shower. And maybe some food. But mostly bed.

Soon enough the pack began to disperse. They all got to their cars slowly, like a team coming back from a long work out, in sore motions and slow movements. The humans under strict orders to stay away from any of the contaminated wolves. Everyone was exhausted from the fight. Stiles watched the Alpha send the rest of his pack off before letting out a sigh and rolling down his passenger side window.

“Come on.”

Derek didn’t bother with an answer and climbed into the familiar jeep. It was six in the morning and they still had a long drive back to Beacon Hills. Not even the wolf in Derek wanted to run the distance they had driven to get the very secluded pond that apparently was some sort of attraction for the high schoolers at Beacon Hills. To his surprise, instead of talking, Stiles flicked on the radio and let it fill the cab of the jeep. He kept it low and easy which Derek appreciated. After a few minutes, he chanced a look over at the human. His eyes were bruised, the purples underneath his eyes stood out against the irregular paleness of his skin. His hair was messy, as if he had been pulling on it, but that, of course, may have happened when the thing threw him like a football. He didn’t think so, but it was possible. Under further observation, he noticed the clothes he was in were the same ones from Friday (it was now Sunday morning) and that his hands were sporting the trembles he often got when he was nervous or exhausted. In this case, Derek assumed it was the latter. He sighed. Stiles eyes flicked over to him.

“What?”  
  
Derek remained quiet for a moment. A stab of guilt going through him. It wasn’t the first time Stiles had called him at ridiculous hours. He had assumed that the kid had been doing some digging when he couldn’t sleep. It had never really occurred to him that the reason he was a couldn’t sleep was the digging. While they had all been sleeping, Stiles had been pulling all of their weight. He should have been there.  
  
“Derek?”

He let out a breath. He could nearly smell the exhaustion coming off him in waves now.

“Pull over,” he demanded, “Let me drive for a while.”

Stiles looked at him for a long moment and scoffed, “What? No.”

“Stiles,” he tried again, mindful to keep his voice low and even he reached out and placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. He could feel the tension from just the surface, “let me drive for a little bit.”

His eyes flickered from Derek’s hand to his face for a few seconds before letting out a defeated sigh. He pulled off the trail a few seconds later and begrudgingly scooched over to the passenger side.

“Do you even know how to drive stick?”

Derek raised an eyebrow at him, “Did you forget that I drive a Camaro?”  
  
“You drive a Mom car.”  
  
“A what?”

“Your Toyota? Total Mom car, dude.”  
  
“Don’t call me dude.”

Stiles only rolled his eyes, still a bit stiffed about being kicked out of his own driver’s seat.

“Just...be careful with her. She’s delicate.”

 

Stiles woke to the familiar twists and turns of his neighborhood. He rubbed his eyes and shot a suspicious glance over at Derek who pretend not to notice the waking human. The sun was rising, creating a cotton candy clouds of pink and orange to litter the still dark sky. Derek finally directed his attention to Stiles as the pair pulled into the driveway.

“You all set?”

Stiles nodded, “Do you need a ride to the loft?”

“Peter’s picking me up. Go ahead inside. I’ll wait on the porch.”

Stiles nodded again, too tired to actually argue. Or talk. He jumped down from Roscoe and began inside. He stopped at the door and turned towards the Alpha.

“Thanks,” he grumbled.

“No problem.”

 

He didn’t even make it under the covers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! Let me know you guys thought? Please?
> 
> (I will be cleaning up the formatting & chapter notes & summary and everything else when it's not 2 am)
> 
> Also, I don't know if I want to do all of these as separate fics and put them in a series or put them all in one fic here. As a reader, what's your preference?? I was also thinking of spliting them 50/50 or 4 25's?? If you have any thoughts on how to organize this, please help!!!


	2. "It reminded me of you."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If you don’t like I can just return it, it’s no big deal."
> 
> “No, you gave it to me. It’s mine now.”

Stiles sighed as he pushed his halfway filled cart through the aisles of Marshall’s.

He hated this place. The artificial lighting fucked with his eyes and the disorganization of the sections made his ADHD itch to just _do_ something with all of it. Now, don’t get him wrong, he wasn’t an organized soul, per se, but when the time was right he’d zone out for hours putting things in order; his books, his video games, his comic book collection, the cereal boxes, the silverware, etc. And every time he walked into this goddamned store, he had that itch.

So why was he in his own personal hell?

It was Babcia’s birthday. And the lady fricken _loved_ pillows. And there was just so much stuff in there. Stiles had to have it all.

He picked up a fake plant for his kitchen, a bookend for the Loft, since all of their textbooks kept falling over from where they sat in the open space on Derek’s bookshelf and giving him a damned near heart attack all the time, three pairs of socks, an awesome looking paper weight for his dad, a strange looking kind of beef jerky he was going to make Scott try with him, a green scarf for Isaac since Stiles had sorted him into Slytherin at some point apparently a mug that read “Metaphors be with you” and an off brand dark chocolate ginger candy that he knew no one else in the pack would touch.

He hadn't even made it to the bedding section yet when he had passed the candles. Normally he wouldn’t have looked twice, knowing he was way over his fifty dollar limit his father had set, but he caught wind of one that made him stop.

It was grey, encased in a clear glass container with black bold lettering labeling the scent as ‘Earl Grey’. He crinkled his nose but reached over to try it anyway. He took off the top and took a long breath in. The scent was as piercing as it was soft. It burned in his nostrils. Making him perk up at it’s expectation almost immediately. But there was an edge to it that you could catch if you really put his mind to it. It made him think of rainy days, curling up in a giant comforter and reading a book all day. It made him feel... _safe_ and homey, relaxed and calm. It was grounding and exciting all at once. He turned it over to check the price. Eh, what was another five dollars anyway?

He tossed three in the cart. Just in case.

 

He headed over the the loft, six bags and eighty dollars thirty three cents later. He marched up the steps and used his key to unlock the door, entering without so much as a hello.

 

Derek sat on the couch, book in hand as usual with his socked feet propped on the coffee table in front of him.

He barely looked up when Stiles came in. He was well used to his erratic, spontaneous visits by now. There had been more than enough times Derek had found the kid passed out on the couch or making mac’n’cheese in the kitchen completely uninvited. But he didn’t mind. It made the loft, the “pack house” seem a lot more as it should. It was nice to have the pack cycling in and out as they pleased. And contrary to popular belief, Derek didn’t like being alone, not really. And even if he did, he had his own bedroom upstairs that no one was allowed into without his permission. He watched lazily as Stiles stood on a chair to place a rainbow colored rock on his bookshelf, to keep the row of textbooks straight up instead of slanted into the wall. Once it was situated, the human turned to him, hand on his hip, the essence of a disappointed mother.

“What?” he scoffed.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Your eyebrow says otherwise.”

“It’s nothing.”

He jumped off the chair and Derek winced as he hit the ground and wobbled a bit. At least there wasn’t any broken bones this time.

“There’s a lack of pride in here, ya know. A majority of your betas are Californians and gay. Or like, half gay. Because bi is a thing, thank you very much. A very much underappreciated and misunderstood thing. But still a thing.”

“I know,” Derek mused, turning back to his book.

There was a beat of silence.

“Oh hey,” Stiles exclaimed, “I got you something.”

This time he was fully aware of his raised eyebrow.  
  
“What?”  
  
He dug around in the plastic bag that hung on his forearm for a while before presenting...

“A candle?”

Derek was about to reach for it, planting his feet on the ground to give him the extra distance when Stiles took the top off.

He was immediately flooded with the scent of Earl Grey. Of his childhood, of his _mother_ . She used to steep it all the time. In the mornings to wake them up, at night to ca lm them to sleep, whenever someone was having a bad day, when ever there was a celebration. It had become a part of her scent. Of the _pack’s_ scent. Even the humans associated Talia with the scent of Earl Grey. The smell seemed to float from the glass and surround him in a warm embrace for a moment before continuing on. He knew he had imagined it, but it felt nice. It was a good reminder. But the fact that it had to be a reminder at all pulled at his chest.

“Why?” He pretended not to notice his voice cracking.

 _How_ was the question he was meant to ask. How did Stiles know? Did he even know? How did he associate Derek with it? How had he chosen _this_ candle. To give to _him_.

Stiles shrugged, “It reminded me of you.”

For a moment he stared.

“If you don’t like I can just return it, it’s no big deal,” Stiles rambled on, scent smelling slightly annoyed and slightly embarrassed, completely unaware of Derek’s inner turmoil.

“No,” Derek heard himself say. He stood, dropping the book on the table and swiping it out of the boy’s hands, “You gave it to me. It’s mine now.”

Without another word he began his ascent up the spiral staircase, staring at the candle in his hands in wonder, reveling in the scent of his memories.

“You’re _welcome_ ,” Stiles called after him, arms swung wide in disbelief.

 

It didn’t take long for the human to let himself out, muttering to himself all the way to his jeep and down the driveway about ungrateful werewolves and their angry eyebrows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone who has ready my previous works I'm sure has noticed 'earl grey' back again. I don't know why, but I associate it with Talia Hale...and for the reasons above think Stiles would have associated it with Derek...that and maybe the Mahogany Teakwood Candle from Bath & Body Works?? I don't know. Smell is a thing for me.
> 
> What'd you guys think? Thanks for reading!!


	3. "No, no. My treat."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curly Fries and Shakes. What else?

It was Memorial Day Weekend. Meaning Stiles had an _extra_ day. A whole 24 hours. To sleep, to play video games, binge watch some stupid show on Netflix, or bake, or lay on his bed and look at the ceiling...or translate the bestiary with Derek.

Yay.

Okay, so admittedly the last option was not his favorite. Cleaning out the refrigerator ranked higher on his list.

The problem wasn’t with _Derek_ . Obviously. He’d trade his left nut for the chance to hangout with Derek one on one, who was he kidding? All his dry humor and quick wit and all... _that_ . The Alpha was undeniably gorgeous. Like sometimes Stiles couldn’t believe the guy was real. He had to distract himself constantly when he was around to avoid his head from exploding. It was like thinking about space and how it just never ends and it is not contained and it just goes on and on and none of it makes any sense. Or calculus. It was a lot like thinking about calculus actually. _Find the derivative of Derek’s jaw line. Chapter 12. Chapter 13: Abs._

So yeah. The problem wasn’t Derek.

He just needed a break. A long one. Just last week they had fought that furry fuath-y thing in the lake and if Chris was right, a group of hunters would be migrating their way West from Kansas in a few months. So they didn’t have a lot of time, because whenever Hunters showed up something supernatural always accompanied them. Someone had dubbed the observation “Isaac Lahey’s First Law” and they hadn’t looked back. But point was, he wanted a break. Just one day for himself. Maybe order a pizza, watch a movie, jerk off on the couch and fucking bask in the afterglow he was sure would follow an amazing orgasm--because his hands? _fucking magical_ \--without the chance of anyone barging in. He needed to move. Maine. Yeah, Maine would be good.

He could buy a lighthouse and become one of the stories parents told their kids. The man who just wanted a day of peace and quiet traveled across America, encountering wild citizen's, country music and Canadians. He’d be a star. A very _alone_ star.

So yes, Derek had called him. This time he had been kind enough to wait until noon. Last time he had called at seven fricken a.m. on a Saturday. Stiles hung up on him and rolled out of bed...only to line his window with mountain ash and get back in. This time though, he had chosen to cooperate:

 

 _“Stiles.”_  
  
“What?”

_“We need to finish the bestiary.”_

_“No.”_

_Silence._  
  
_“Fine.”_  
  
“I’ll be over in a few hours.”

_“You better fucking have curly fries and a strawberry shake from Ruby’s.”_

_There was a grumble on from the other line. And ha, yeah right. Derek would rather feed Stiles his toes before playing delivery boy to his hungry food focused wet daydream._

_“And use the front door,” he cried before hanging up and turning back over in his bed_.

 

They didn’t know how much time they had left, really and he didn’t want to look like an asshole when it came to the new monster of the week (what fourth wall?) being on the few pages they had left to translate from Derek’s old bestiary. They still had a ton to go, don’t get him wrong. It could...would probably take them their whole lives to finish them all. They still had a ways to go through Peter’s files on a computer, which proved more useful, as well as the fucking library of French shit the Argents have stacked in their basement that Chris had made fair game.  
  
The thought made him cringe. Would this be his whole life? After college. Marriage? Would he even be able to get married? Being fifty and having a midlife crisis while trying to translate Sanskrit to Spanish and then to English because the direct translation lost too much connotation? Would he be in a nursing home as the whacked out one who believed in all this werewolf magic shit while he was only trying to finish up his life’s work before he died. God. _Fuck_.

He was wrenched out of his thoughts when his front door swung open. Derek must have heard his heart rate jump because he hollard out a quick “it’s me” before locking it behind himself. It wasn’t 100% societal norm, barging into people's houses,but it was ten times better than the window. Het trusted Derek to find him in the kitchen and went about digging through the fridge to start on making them sandwiches before they got to it for who knows how long. But to his surprise he turned to be met with Derek, standing in the door frame with his leather jacket and two white paper bags held against his chest with one arm and a plastic bag held in his other, hanging lazily by his side.

“What?”

Stiles shook his head and took the bags from the wolf, freeing him.

“No, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“What do you mean?”  
  
“You smell like anxiety.”  
  
Stiles snorted, “Don’t I always smell like anxiety?”

Derek shrugged, “Not excessively. Not like now.”

Stiles dug around the grease stained bag to pull out the paper half box holding his fries, “Just thinking.”

“About?”

For a moment he considered spilling everything. For another, he considered saying absolutely nothing at all.

“Whether or not this is going to take my entire life.”

He let out a small crow of victory when he found a few extra stragglers at the bottom of the bag. His favorite. A gift from God.

Derek snorted, “Don’t be dramatic. We only have,” he paused to thumb through the material remaining, “fifteen pages left.”

Stiles huffed and plopped down in the seat next to Derek, “Yeah and it took up a month to finish twenty.”

He took a bite of his burger and set it down, looking out across the table at the files and books and scrolls around them. And fuck, how he wished he could Instagram this shit. Hashtag ritual sacrifice. Hashtag werewolves are real. Hashtag Pack of Beacon Hills.

He sighed, the thought of everything weighing down on him. He looked up and Derek was looking back at him. Seeming to be waiting for Stiles to _really_ tell him what the matter was.

“Like...is there a life beyond this?” He gestured widely to the mess on the kitchen table.

The Alpha stared at Stiles for a long moment. His eyes were intense and thoughtful. So full of his soul and his mind. It felt like a thousand eyes on him but he knew it was only one very steady, heavy gaze. Finally he spoke.

“There could be.”

“I mean...”  
  
“I know what you mean.”  
  
“Will this be our lives forever?” He asked, slumping down further in the chair, “Chasing monsters? Being the heroes? Translating archaic latin? Now...I mean, now it’s fine. But I’m just not sure I want to spend my whole life...”

Derek said nothing, but his presence was all the answer he needed.

“You’re a human. You have the luxury of being able to remove yourself whenever. Ignorance is bliss. Some of us are born into it. We’re stuck with it. Like a brand.”

The boy winced.

“It wasn’t always like this,” Derek continued quickly, “We had a normal life. I played basketball. Laura was kickass at field hockey. We went to school, fought with our siblings, pranked our cousins. Peter married a human. And there was...a life beyond it all. I never...Beacon Hills...,” Stiles shifted in his seat, “I never led a life like this. Not since...everything.”

This time it was Stiles’ gaze that was heavy. He remained quiet just in case...because Derek was _talking_.

“So yeah, there’s a life beyond all of this.”

“I’m not sure I’ll ever get there.”  
  
“We’ll get there,” Derek responded, voice deep and weighted. Like it had accidently slipped out. Like a silent wish. Like a promise.

And you know what? Coming from Derek, Stiles believed it. And speaking of believing...

“Oh,” He reached for his backpocket, “How much do I owe you?”

He flapped his hand between their food when Derek’s eyebrow flicked up.

“My treat.”

Stiles couldn’t help the fond smile that made its way to his face, “Thanks Dude.”

“Don’t call me dude.”


	4. “Come here. Let me fix it.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so maybe Derek likes scaring Stiles a little more than he should.

Derek sat propped against Stiles’s headboard while he listened to the boy whirl around the bathroom. He would deny the fact that he had maybe sort of arranged this until his dying day, but there he was. He was reading through Stiles’ annotations in one of his school books when the boy _finally_ came in.

“Jesus Christ!” he exclaimed as soon as he notices the wolf.

So yeah, maybe he liked scaring Stiles a little more than he should. Sue him.

“Just me,” Derek answered without even having to look up to know Stiles was clutching at his chest, trying to get his heart to slow down.

Stiles scoffed good naturedly as he made his way to his dresser, digging around in his sock drawer. Derek looked over him. He was fresh out of the shower, his hair haphazardly towel dried. His white shirt was unbuttoned, revealing his tank top underneath and the fact that his pants were unbuttoned and unzipped. Derek dutifully looked away. Finding his dress socks, he turned to face himself in the body mirror and hiked up his pants before working at them.

“As you can see, I won’t be able to help you tonight with any supernatural shiznit.”  
  
“Shiznit,” Derek repeated, deadpan.

“Yes. It’s Homecoming.”

This time it was the Alpha’s turn to scoff, “I know, Stiles.”

He turned around to face him, while his nimble fingers did up his buttons.

“Then why are you here?”  
  
“I’m not allowed to see you off?”

“Not if you don’t want to look like a giant creeper, you’re not.”  
  
Derek frowned, “What do you mean?”

Stiles finally looked up at him as he tucked in his shirt and reached for his tie. He arched an eyebrow at the man lounging on his bed.

“Let me lay this out for you. Twenty four year old ex murder suspect. Shows up for pictures with all the giddy starcrossed parents of high schoolers even though he doesn’t have any relatives there. Refuses to get in any pictures and stands in the corner just to brood the whole time. How do you think that’ll sound? Plus, my Dad’s not a fan of that fact that you habitually sneak into my window at all hours of the day. I’m sure he’d find it rather suspicious, too.”

“W-what?”

“Derek, he _sees_ you. You don’t exactly wait for him to drive up the street before you bombard our humble abode.”

Derek relaxed back into the headboard. Eh. If the Sheriff hadn’t already pulled him over for a petty ticket or tried to shoot him then he figured the man was somewhat okay with it. Stiles checked his watch.

“Shit, she’s gonna be here in ten minutes.”

“Who’s your date?” Derek inquired, picking up the book again, feigning disinterest.

“Harley.”

“I don’t know her.”  
  
Stiles scoffed, “No kidding. We’ve been friends since middle school. She’s the only one who wasn’t putoff by our weirdness.”  
  
“Our?”  
  
“Me and Scott. Package deal, Bro.”  
  
“Ugh,” Derek wrinkled his nose.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I’d rather you call me Dude than Bro.”

Stiles laughed, “You’ve heard it here first, folks. Damn it.”

“What is it?”  
  
“I can’t get this freakin tie.”  
  
Derek lifted his gaze to see the mess of fabric that was around Stiles’ neck.

“Are you _trying_ to strangle yourself?”

“Probably subconsciously.”

That comment had an underlying meaning to it, whether Stiles meant it or not. Either way, Derek wasn’t touching that one with a ten foot pole. He stood and motioned for Stiles to come over to him.

“Come here. Let me fix it.”

The boy complied and was focused intently on watching Derek’s hands the whole time. It made the Alpha a bit uncomfortable. Stiles’ gazes were always intense, enough so that they rivaled Derek’s, and normally he was accustomed to them. But now that he was well aware that he was being monitored, he felt a bit off kilter. So he took a page from Stiles’ book, and talked. Or rather...he’d prompt _Stiles_ to talk.

“So, Harley was your friend before everything?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah. Way before. She kicked Jackson in the shin when he said Spiderman was cooler than Batman. She’s cool.”

“And you managed to stay friends? Through everything?”  
  
“No, we’re just going to Homecoming together because we’re loose acquaintances,” Stiles snarked.

“I’m just saying,” Derek shrugged as he started looping the tie, “That’s pretty impressive.”  
  
“ _I’m_ pretty impressive.”  
  
Derek laughed in his face.

“Who did you _think_ I’d go with?”  
  
“Someone from the pack. Malia?”

“Yeah, try getting that girl to wear jeans, let alone a dress.”  
  
“Lydia? Danny?”  
  
“Jackson. Ethan.”

“I never hear you talk about anyone other than the pack. I just thought they were your friends, too.”

“They are,” Stiles defended quickly.

“I know. I guess I just didn’t realize you had close friends outside the pack.”

Stiles shrugged, “I mean, it was hard at first. But me and Harley made it though. She doesn’t talk to Scott much anymore. He was kind of a dick to everyone for a while.”

Derek hummed in agreement as he began tightening the royal blue fabric.

“Was that ever a problem for you?”  
  
“What? Keeping friends?”

Stiles nodded, eyes still focused on Derek’s hands.

“Sometimes. Family... _pack_ is important. Not a lot of teenagers understand that yet and people would get mad when I’d chose going to the movies with my sisters over going to a party or something. But I wasn’t thrown into it like you were,” by now he had finished and his hands were still in their positions, “I had time to adjust. You woke up one day and your best friend was a werewolf and you had to figure everything out on your own.”

Stiles finally looked up and met his eyes with a gentle smile, “We had some help.”

Derek couldn’t stop the soft tugging of his lips. He placed a big hand on Stiles’ chest, smoothing down the tie.

“Thanks.”

Derek shrugged and went to move away, but Stiles grabbed onto his sleeve to catch him, “No, seriously,” Stiles urged on, holding his eyes, “Thanks.”

He swallowed, “You’re welcome.”

He made his way back over to the edge of Stiles’ bed and watched him slip into his suit jacket and shake out his shoulders so his cuffs would cover his wrists fully.

“The name’s Stilinski. Stiles Stilinski.”

Derek snorted and rolled his eyes, “I’m leaving.”

“Why?”  
  
“I’ll let you self love a little longer before your date gets here.”

Stiles laughed, “Yeah, alright. Wait!”  
  
“What?”

He was momentarily blinded by a light. He growled.

“Just needed a selfie.”

“It’s never going to take.”

“I know. Just for sentiment, really.”

He shook his head before grabbing his jacket and slipping on his shoes. It was then that he caught the scent of nervous energy whisping around the room and he paused.

“I thought you said she was only a friend.”

Stiles turned to him questioningly.

“You smell nervous,” he answered.

“Romantic interests and nerves are not mutually exclusive.”

Derek rolled his eyes again, “You look fine.”

The blush lit up Stiles’ face like a bulb, but Derek paid no mind to it. Without another word he started out the window, John Stilinski be damned. He paused half way through however, to turn back to the human watching his exit.

“Call me if you need a ride or anything.”

With those words, the air seemed to clear around Stiles immediately. Like he had been under a spell and Derek had just magicked it away.

Stiles threw him a goofy smile, but his words were sincere, “Thanks, Sourwolf.”

He didn’t bother with an answer before slipping out into the dawn.  
  
And while Stiles didn’t call him for a ride, he did receive a text  at three in the morning, letting him know that he was safe and sound at Lydia’s lake house with zero alcohol in the vicinity and a very securely tied tie.


	5. "I'll walk you home."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So Lydia was mad at him. Her heels were definitely ruined and he could feel her stone cold eyes on him even as they ran. So maybe this was a little bit his fault that he hadn’t brought Roscoe in for his inspection, but again, it wasn’t like either of them volunteered to drive them in one of their parents’ stupid prius'.

He had run into the preserve, vials of mountain ash in hand.

Wolves. Fucking _wolves_ . Dumb omegas. In their territory. _Again_. Why couldn’t they just learn? Why? Hadn’t they eradicated enough of them in the past few years already? Fucking idiots. Trying to “steal” their power and land and territory. Jesus H. Christ.

Lydia and Allison were on his heels. He could hear Lydia’s labored breathing to his left, but Allison barely made a sound as they stumbled through the trees and fallen branches. He refused to look at either one of them. It was his fault they were in this mess anyways. Roscoe had shit the bed two miles back in the middle of the road. He hadn’t even made it to the shoulder. Just...died. In the middle of 395. Lydia’s glare had been all telling, but hey, it wasn’t like either of _them_ had volunteered to drive. So they had bailed. Abandoning the jeep, his noble steed, and barreled into the woods. They were still a ways out, but now they could hear the angry howls and grunts from the fight. He hoped everyone was still standing. He had, foolishly, left his thrown together werewolf first aid pack in Roscoe in the hustle of Allison dragging him out and shoving him forward for them to follow. His spark would lead him to the pack. To his Alpha.

It was strange. He was completely ordinary. No powers or magic or anything cool. He could manipulate dust. Or...well technically it was a flower or plant... _tree_ really. Whatever. He could play with a ground up tree and sometimes mistletoe, which _was_ a plant and he could help speed up the packs healing abilities when he was near them, but that was really it. He was just a human that a bond, which wasn’t really as lame as he’s made it out to be. Deaton said he had “unlock” the rest of his powers, like his life was a video game. But for now, he was like...their recharge. The pack was stronger with him there, but Derek (and Scott, for that matter) still refused to let him anywhere near potential danger. Which, he supposed, he should be thankful for, but then shit like this happened when he had to leave the pack house in a hurry and drive x amount of miles and run the rest with the weight of the realization that he was their last hope unless they wanted to kill these poor bastards. And frankly, Stiles wasn’t as opposed to that as he should be. Granted, the pack was out on their monthly moon run, that he, Allison and Lydia turned into their own monthly get together, but still. It just goes to show....prevention is wayyyy better than cure.

 _Anyway_ , so Lydia was mad at him. Her heels were most likely...okay, definitely ruined and he could feel her stone cold eyes on him even as they ran. So maybe this was a little bit his fault that he hadn’t brought Roscoe in for his inspection, but again, it wasn’t like either of them volunteered to take them in one of their parents’ stupid prius. The three of them skittered into the clearing, his pack surrounding a handful...five? No, four, wolves. _Omegas_ that ruined his scheduled (well in advance, too) relaxation.

“Derek,” Isaac called, bringing attention to Team Human™ who had just rolled in...rather walked in.

“Do you have it?” The Alpha growled.

Stiles nodded, still too out of breath to speak.

The attention on him, apparently was enough for the Omega’s to make a move without Derek’s hand immediately going to their necks, because he and two others were on them in a moment. He heard a cry and saw the red speckles of blood in the air in slow motion, like there was zero gravity, before everything seemed to speed up and hit him at once. Allison was on the ground, Jackson had made it to Lydia’s defense in time and Stiles had been rammed in the stomach by, luckily, just the wolf’s fist, knocking the breath out him and forcing him to him knees. Boyd had the man thrown back before Stiles even hit the ground and it looked like the one that had gotten to Allison was already...dealt with.

Stiles got to shaky legs, walking past Scott who had run to the Hunter’s side. He reached in his pocket, grimacing at the cracked vial in his hands. He knew he was running out of time if the increase in angry snarls and cries were anything to go by. He crushed what was left of the glass in his palm, the shape edges digging into his skin and calling forth blood. Deaton had said once (maybe) that in theory, Stiles’ magic was rooted in his blood. He hoped it mixed well with the herb. The tree, whatever. His world was spinning and he was still struggling to get his breath, but he closed his eyes and imagined, _believed_ that the mountain ash was circling each of the alive Omegas with all his might and will. He hadn't realized his eyes had closed until he found himself opening them at the sudden lack of growls. In relief he stumbled back into a hard chest. Isaac was looking down at him, eyes scanning for the scent of Stiles’ blood. He ignored the concern in the Beta’s eyes and shove himself from the wall of muscle to stand. Derek was soon to approach them, grabbing hold of Stiles’ wrist with his big hands, examining the damage.

“It’s just a scratch,” he promised, voice still raspy and low, “Allison?”

He watched the Alpha’s jaw clench and fear flooded his every thought.

“She’s fine,” Isaac quickly cut in, shoving Derek out of Stiles’s vision, “She just needs to go see Melissa, get some stitches.”  
  
“She’s passed out, Isaac,” Derek growled back, hand still around Stiles’ wrist, almost like he had forgotten that it was there.

Isaac’s face stretched into something that was a mix between disbelief and a warning as his eyes flickered between the two of them. Stiles wanted to laugh because, good luck, he had been trying to teach Derek social cues for months now. But finally the man seemed to understand because his attention flickered back to Stiles and his eyes softened. And he probably looked a lot worse than he thought he did if Derek was giving him _that_ look and Isaac was even slightly concerned for his emotional state.  
  
“Oh,” he muttered, “She _will_ be fine, though, Stiles. She just has to get to the hospital.”

He nodded and let his eyes finally drop to where Derek’s grip was steady. The wolf gave his wrist a tight squeeze before letting go.  
  
“Hey, Boss,” Erica cried from where she was standing between the two small circles of mountain ash, “What are we supposed to do with these fools?”

Derek directed his attention to that, Boyd, Jackson and the others following him over to the Omegas. Stiles took the opportunity to rush over to Scott’s side where he was cradling Allison to his chest.

“Is she--”  
  
“She’s okay, Stiles,” Lydia assured, “Just lost some blood.

He looked down at her. She was pale, lips looking cold and....dead. The wolf had gotten her in the leg, tearing right through her calf and Stiles could swear he saw bone. He twisted away.

“Are you going to drive her?” Kira asked, working on wrapping her jacket tightly around Allison’s leg.  
  
“We didn’t drive out here,” Scott growled, turning to Stiles, “Didn’t you drive?”

He shook his head. It was easier than explaining the whole dilemma that had gotten them there in the first place.

“Should I call someone?” Stiles asked shakily, reaching for his phone.  
  
“No,” Scott cut in quickly, eyes meeting his. His chest clenched involuntarily at the cold stare, “It’ll be quicker to run.”

He couldn’t shake the feeling that Scott was blaming him for this. And maybe he should have. It was the same glare when she had nearly died by the Oni...the Oni that _Stiles_ was controlling. He remembered giving the order, taking the perspective of the Oni just to _feel_ the pleasure of stabbing into her flesh. To see it for himself, killing “The Argent Girl”. It had been one of his...of the Nogitsune’s favorite feats. He had tried hard to forget it. Buried it as deeply as he could. Replaced it with other things. Ignored it all together. But now he couldn’t help but think back, looking down at Allison’s motionless body, the deep blood against pale skin, looking back into Scott’s cold distant gaze. It had taken Scott a long time to get rid of that look of contempt in his eyes, saved only for his “best friend”. And now it was back.

The wolf lifted Allison’s body up and began in the direction of town. Stiles assumed he’d be heading to Deaton, as it would be hard to explain why they had been out in the preserve, for one, and how Scott had managed to carry her like a superhero into the ER. But what did Stiles know? Scott seemed to lose all semblance of logic whenever Allison was in a five mile radius. He watched them go, still sitting back on his knees.

It wasn’t until he felt Kira’s gentle hand on his shoulder had he realized he’d been zoning. And probably for the better half of a few minutes, if the look of concern on the girl’s face, as well as the three new dead bodies had any indication.

Stiles was...well he was “prone” to these zonings. They happened sporadically. Or at least as sporadically as he’d like the pack to think they did. They were usually triggered. Just by a word or phrase, even by a movement or glance. Sometimes they happened at pack meetings, sometimes at school. The pack had learned to just let them happen or to coax him out of them slowly. It had taken a handful of times of them demanding Stiles’ attention only to be met with a broken look and a silent dismissal as he’d excuse himself from the room, smelling overwhelmingly of grief and guilt, for them to figure it out. They had gotten better. They happened less and less. It had been so long since the last one that he couldn’t even remember. He shook off the stale feeling and smiled hollowly at Kira.

“Thanks,” he whispered.

She wrapped an arm around his shoulder and squeezed him in a brief hug. When he stood and looked over, most of the pack was heading out, presumably to meet Scott and Allison or just go home and wait for word of her condition. Erica and Boyd looked like they were going to stay behind and wait for the Kynigós’ (see: the newest hunter family that had stumbled into Beacon Hills as Chris had predicted...luckily they lived by the code and readily adopted Allison’s new one), as was typical after something like this. They developed a system, them the Pack and the Argents. The wolves did the dirty work and the Hunters cleaned it up. I mean...not in so many words, but that’s what it had been chalked up to for the past few months, they may as well forget the all inclusive monthly meetings and the promise that they’d give the wolves a heads up if they had any other friendlies coming to town. But they were cool, Anastasia, their oldest daughter, was currently teaching Stiles some Greek, which definitely came in handy when translating everything and Milo, her twin, had taken quite a liking to Isaac, the Greek-look-a-like cherub that he was.

Soon, Derek was standing in front of them, nodding at Kira who gave Stiles one last squeeze before bounding off over to Jackson, Lydia and Isaac who had been waiting for her. Neither of them said anything. They just stood there, taking one another in. Stiles’ eyes were slightly downcast, trying to avoid the Alpha’s intense gaze, knowing that he’d see straight through Stiles’ feigned exterior and find the guilt and shame and then pinpoint exactly where they were coming from. And he was tired and his chest hurt. He really wasn’t up for a lecture. Maybe tomorrow. Over toast or something. But not...not now.  
  
“Roscoe?”

He shook his head.  
  
“I’ll have Boyd call a tow truck.”

He didn’t look to see, but if Stiles had any money to put anywhere, he’d put it at the fact that Boyd already had his phone out, prepared to call. He resisted a deep sigh. It was Roscoe alone that was probably keeping the local mechanic shop open. They should be _grateful_ for his business.

Derek’s eyes were still on him. There was only so much he could take before he was dragging his eyes up to meet green ones. The Alpha had his hands in his pocket, looking like he was waiting for Stiles to make a move. When it was clear Stiles had no intention of doing, well...anything, he huffed. They seemed to have some kind of silent conversation then. Neither of them really knowing what was being communicated, but what eventually got across was “I’m tired”, “I’m cold”, “I’m raw” and “Please”.

Derek only blinked. Stiles was about to write it off as something that had just gone on in his tired mind, until the Alpha nodded.

“I’ll walk you home.”

Stiles didn’t know why, but he felt relief pour over him. He didn’t understand it. It wasn’t like he was worried that he’d have to walk home alone, right? He’d done it a thousand times before, the woods were like an extension of his body. So walking through them? Like he said, he wasn’t worried about walking home alone...unless...was he? He swallowed.

Whatever it was, Derek seemed to know. Even if Stiles didn’t. Maybe he did. Maybe he _knew_ it was the being alone part that did it. That they usually paired up in groups, ‘Erica, Isaac and Boyd’, ‘Allison, Lydia, Scott and Jackson’, ‘Malia, Liam, Kira’. And Stiles was always alone.

He watched the retreating leather clad back.

Well... _maybe_ he wasn’t as alone as he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How was it? I actually "aww'd" at the end of writing it, like the big sap I am. But this is a lot more "cute" than what I usually write, so I was kind of surprised of how the ending turned out, myself.
> 
> Does she die? I mean...it would be canononical....hm, looks like you'll just have to come back for part 6?
> 
> I'd love to see you in the comments? Thanks for reading!


	6. "Have a good day at work."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Where’s my coffee?”
> 
> “Make it yourself."

Stiles woke to the aggressive sound of a Keurig sputtering out water. Even in his half sleep, he furrowed his brows in question. He didn’t own a Keurig. Right? _Right?_

Oh God. What if this was like a thing? Like he fell asleep and was transported 10 years into the future or something and this is his life, now. Like, he was a successful entrepreneur with a furnished house, a nice yard, maybe a dog or two, a few kids or not...an equally successful partner who’s a morning person that’ll make him breakfast, they’d read the paper together, or at least, they would and Stiles would do the games, and he had a Keurig. Ugh. He shifted. He was...he was on a couch? Huh, must have been an unhappy marriage. Well, _a_ marriage was better than no marriage, right? Especially at the rate he was going...or rather, his past-self was going. God, he didn’t know if he could handle all this yet.

He was kind of forced to, however, when a gruff voice came from above him, “I know you’re up.”

And hey...he knew that voice.

His eyes flew open, “D-Derek? I married _Derek_?”

Derek quirked an eyebrow and looked on Stiles with a clear sign of fascination, his voice was playfully condescending, “Is that what you dream about?”

A strange feeling settled over him. It wasn’t quite relief and it wasn’t quite disappointment either. He shoved it to the back of his mind to analyze later.

“Oh yeah. Every night I have a dream about marrying one of the pack members.”  
  
“Yeah?” Derek’s eyes was still a bit hooded from sleep, as he stood there, mug of coffee in hand.

“Yeah. You should have been there for the one with Boyd. His princess gown had an a-line. And Isaac? Total Bridezilla.”

The man hummed in amusement before nudging Stiles’ thigh over with his own to make enough room for himself to plop down on the couch next to him. He reached for his phone. It was dead.

“What time is it?”

“Six,” came the response.

Stiles looked over. The man had his head tilted to rest on the back of the couch, his coffee cradled to his chest. It was so achingly domestic that Stiles nearly cried. Because Derek _deserved_ this. To be able to wake up and...well he deserved a furnished house...a nice yard, maybe a dog or two...a few kids, an equally successful partner that was a morning person that would make him breakfast, someone to read the paper with...and a Keurig. The man should have seven. He was still dressed in his pajamas, grey sweats and a forest green UVM sweatshirt that had been stretched and worn from age. His dark hair was rustled and he looked...he looked soft. And Stiles couldn’t drag his eyes away.

Eventually, Derek cracked one eye open to look at the human, “What?”

Ignoring the morning voice all together, because Stiles’ psyche could not actually _handle that,_ he croaked back, “Why so early?”

“I have work.”

“Mm yeah.”

For the past year Derek had been working at a contracting firm in the next town over. The guy had a degree in architecture. Who fuckin’ _knew_ ? But he liked it...or at least Stiles thought he did. He could look casual for most days, got to do the math-y stuff and if they needed the help he got to work with his hands a bit and help out the build crew. They gave him all the time off he needed (aka once a month for the full moon and shit) and he could technically work from home if he needed to, which in their lives, was a very real possibility of necessity.He was getting up there, too, already a manager for one of their wings and he just started plans for his own first official project. Stiles was...oddly proud. It was still weird for him sometimes. Not being able to call Derek at any and all times of the day and expect him to drop everything to rescue one of the little shits because he was an actual _functioning_ adult. But it was good for the man. His happiness was visible. He wasn’t as muscled (don’t get Stiles wrong, he was still _very_ muscled...like... _very_ ), but it looked more natural now, like it was his choice to stay in shape and it wasn’t forced upon him by some nerdass hunters that kept him on the run for more than like, half his life. He smiled more, well, little grins and smirks about things that weren’t necessarily of asshole content. He fixed up the loft so that it actually livable. He kept food in his house, had a bedroom bedroom, a schedule, coworkers...a Keurig.

“I didn’t mean to wake you up,” Derek admitted, the awareness slowly seeping back into his eyes as he dropped a hand to Stiles’ thigh, eyes still trained to the ceiling, “I thought you at least had a few more hours. You passed out cold last night.”

“Mm? I did?”

Ah, that was right. Last night was pack night. It was cute. Last time they had gone mini golfing. It had been hilarious. Derek snorted at his blissful state of half steep, “Yeah. Like an hour into the movie. You wouldn’t get up.”  
  
“I had tests all week. And everything,” he yawned, “with the omegas and Allison.”

Derek squeezed his thigh at the mention. Derek shifted so that he was sitting up, feet planted firmly on the ground, like just the reminder threatened him. Stiles cursed himself out in his mind, he’d ruined Derek’s calm morning demeanor, of course, leave it to him. The Alpha seemed to sense his...regret?...guilt? Whatever it was he was emitting and squeezed his thigh again. Stiles laid his own hand over it briefly to let him know...know something. What, he wasn’t exactly sure, but he knew it was the right move when the man relaxed back a bit and offered him a neutral look.

“I have to take a shower.”  
  
Stiles nodded and stood, heading towards the kitchen, completely making himself at home taking out and mixing ingredients, “Where’s my coffee?”

“Make it yourself,” he said.

“What’s the point of having a coffee maker if it only makes one cup of coffee?” He accused as Derek quietly handed his half full mug over to him.

“Saves the environment?”

Stiles snorted as he took a sip of the warm drink. He’d add more sugar later.

“Wrong part of California, Mr. Go Green. Besides, how much plastic do you think people throw away each year with the plastic cuppy things you have to use.”

“It’s not my fault you don’t recycle, Stiles,” Derek responded as he reached up into one of the cabinets, presumably to get the pancake mix out.

“Whatever.”  
  
“And, contrary to popular belief,” the man said, eyebrow raised as he slid the box across the countertop, “I do live alone.”

“Must be sleep paralysis.”

“What?”  
  
“From my dream. We were married,” he jutted out an elbow in hopes to keep Derek from stealing some of the batter, it was in vain, as his tall frame curved over Stiles’ arm and he swept a finger through the pale mixture, stealing as much as he could on one digit, “You were a lot nicer.”

“Doubt it.”

“Really,” Stiles lied. They both knew but allowed themselves the play and banter.

Derek shook his head as he started up the stairs, “My partner would live in marital bliss.”

“Sure, sure. Where are the chocolate chips?”

“To your left.”  
  
“Go, I can smell you from here.”

Without another word, the man continued up the stairs, leaving Stiles furiously mixing and actively trying to avoid any thought about the fact that Derek had said ‘partner’.

 

Thirty minutes later and Stiles had frenzied himself into a feast. There was a stack of chocolate chip pancakes, sausage, bacon, strawberries from the fridge, orange juice and toast. Derek came steadily down the stairs and stopped, throwing Stiles an accusatory glare.

The boy let his arms fly up, “I didn’t _break_ anything.”

Still looking distrustful, Derek reached for a plate and grabbed a bit of everything. Stiles followed his lead and plopped down across from him at the table.

“Why did you make so much?”

“I wanted breakfast. Couldn’t decide. So, how’s everything with work? I like always forget that you do that now.”

“Do what now?”  
  
“Work.”

Derek took a sip of his orange juice before answering, eyes shooting to the coffee mug that Stiles was holding. Seeing the glance the human shielded it away from prying eyes. Oh no, Derek had given it up. There was no way he was getting it back now.

“It’s fine,” he said, “We just started on a new set of plans for a restaurant a few towns over.”

“Yeah? How’re they coming.”  
  
“They’re not. They want too much.”

Stiles shoveled a bite of pancake into his mouth, “Doevent erybory?”

That earned him an unimpressed glare from across the table. It took everything in him not to grin maniacally just to get a rise out of him.

“Don’t,” Stiles quirked an eyebrow, “What ever it is you’re thinking about? Don’t.”

Stiles swallowed the food down as a startled laugh popped out of him.

“Whatever, dude.”

They ate in silence for the remainder of the meal, the only sounds were the scraping of their forks on plates and the occasional morning sniffle. Derek stood to collect both of their plates and carry them to the sink.

“You know,” Stiles drawled, lazily watching Derek’s back muscles as he walked, “you do own a dishwasher for this very reason.”

The man shrugged without looking back, turning the faucet on to soak the plates in, “I don’t trust them.”

Stiles grinned, “Me either.”

Derek turned and leaned backwards on the counter, “My Mom used to make us all do them after dinner. It was her idea of bonding. Laura always got out of it because she had a knack of making them even dirtier than they went in.”  
  
“You think she did it on purpose?”  
  
Derek snorted, “Of course. She was quick, always pulling stuff like that,” his eyes softened as they met Stiles’, “She would have liked you.”

Something twisted in his chest. He didn’t respond because he knew Derek could pick up his flattery elsewhere. Instead he gave a shy smile. They held each other’s gazed for a moment longer until the older man sighed.

“I’ve got to go.”

Stiles nodded and allowed him to ascend the stairs as he made his way to the couch and flipped on the television. By the time Derek had finished getting ready and made his way back down to the ground flood, Stiles was sprawled on his back and was very invested in a Parks & Rec episode. It had taken the boy ages to get Derek to agree to Netflix (let alone cable) but in the end everyone (including Derek) was happy that he caved.

“You’re not leaving?” he asked, smiling fondly at the human.

His brown hair was messy and tousled from sleep matching the state of his rumpled clothing and tired eyes. Looks like the coffee hadn’t done much for either of them. He checked his watch, noting that he had enough time to stop at one of the many drive-thrus to grab something hot and caffeinated on his way to work.

“Nah, Dad has day shift. It’s alright if I say, right?”

He snorted, “Since when did you start asking.”

Stiles pointed at him over the back of the couch, “Point.”

“Goodbye, Stiles,” he chuckled, shaking his head fondly.

“Bye. Have a good day at work!”

 

And he did.


	7. “I dreamt about you last night.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was blood. Everywhere.

There was blood. Everywhere. It was warm and sticky in his hands as he pressed against the wound.

“Fuck.”  
  
“Stiles, come on,” Scott growled.

He turned his head to face his best friend, “Derek,” he explained, holding his head in the palm of his hand, the other still pressed to the pulsing gash in his side.

“We have to go!”  
  
“No.”

He turned back, taking in his pale face and dark lashes. Sweat beaded over his top lip and forehead, his hair drenched with it. The Alpha had come out of nowhere. Knocking Boyd and Isaac aside, slashing through Derek’s toso. Stiles could have sworn he saw the claws poke through his other side. He had dropped. The others were...they were preoccupied with the rest of the attacking pack, but Stiles...he saw it all.

“Derek,” he felt the hot tears spill over, “ _Derek_.”

“Stiles,” Scott barked, “Come. On.”

He dropped his head to the man’s shoulder, half expecting his arm to come up and reciprocate the hold. It didn’t.

“Stiles,” before he realized Scott approaching, he felt his hand wrap around his bicep and pull him away.

“No!” He screamed, the sound ripping from his chest as he scrambled back to Derek, “No!”  
  
He threw himself on top of him, uncaring of the blood that was now seeping into his own clothes. He gripped the other man’s torn shirt and buried his face in his neck.

“Come on, Derek. Wake up,” he begged, his voice broken and raw.

“Stiles,” Scott came again, this time wrapping his arms around his chest, restraining his arms and pulling him back, “Stiles! Stop it. He’s _dead_ . Stop! The others are coming and we need to go.”  
  
“Derek.”  
  
“He’s dead, Stiles.”

He felt his body go slack, “No,” he whispered, “ _No_. No no no nonono.”

Scott took the opportunity to drag him away.

“No.”

 

The word died on his lips as he felt his eyes flutter open. He sat ramrod straight, unable to control his breathing. He needed to be grounded....he needed. He needed _Derek_ . He caught sight of his father standing in his door way, still in his pajamas. So he was home then. Good. Fine. He was...he was okay. He couldn’t breathe. He must have lost some time because his Dad was there, his heavy hands on his shoulders, peering in Stiles’ eyes. He was saying something but the blood rushing in his head was too loud. His eyes were leaking tears and he couldn’t get a grip.  
  
“Stiles. Stiles. Stiles.”

His father’s voice sounded like it was underwater, but he was finally able to hear it. Two hands took his in theirs and brought them to a chest.  
  
“With me,” he instructed.

A few minutes passed and he was breathing easier. His head still hurt, like a hangover and his face was still wet from tears. His father pulled him into his chest and rubbed up and down his arm until Stiles deemed himself ready enough to pull back.

“I’m sorry kiddo. I would have come in sooner but I was sleeping heavy.”

He shook his head, “I’m sorry.”

John petted the back of Stiles’ head and held his hand there, “You know I don’t mind.”

“I know but...”

“It was a dream,” he confirmed, “Look.”

He held out his hand and Stiles grabbed onto it. He counted the fingers. Once. Twice. And then his own. Ten fingers. Five on each hands. It was....a dream.  
  
“Derek?” he asked, voice timid, almost afraid to know the answer.

John looked thoughtful for a moment before reaching over and grabbing Stiles’ phone from where it sat on his bedside table, “Want to call him?”

“Scott didn’t...nothing happened?”

He shook his head, “You came home from school yesterday. Went to see Allison, I think you brought her homework. Then you came back and we had dinner and watched the game. You didn’t leave the house and no one came here.”

Stiles let out a shaky breath. His father was well versed in Stiles’ nightmares by now. He knew exactly what he needed to hear and when. He may not have always known why, but Stiles was very thankful that he did what he did, despite.

“Want to call him?” He asked again.

He shook his head. Because knowing Derek it’d cause a word of concern getting a call from Stiles at...4:23 in the morning.

“Alright. Well I have the morning shift. How about I swing by this loft. Make sure his car’s still there and everything. Sound good.”

He swallowed, “Yeah. Thanks, Dad.”

With a kiss to his temple the man stood, “You should try to grab a few more hours before school.”

Instead he slid out of bed behind the man, “I don’t...”  
  
“Not a good idea?”  
  
Stiles shook his head, “No.”  
  
“Alright. I’m pretty awake right now, too. How about we get breakfast at Ruby’s?”

“That’d be perfect.”

 

In homeroom he got a text from his father:

_Hales ok. Saw him outfront. Does he give Isaac Lahey a ride to school?_

He shot back a quick _‘yes’_ and _‘thank you’_ and allowed himself a bit of peace for the rest of the day. But the dream had felt...so real. So honest and true and he...he remembered the blood. Derek’s pulsing wound. He remembers how the twigs of the forest were digging into his knees as he held him. He remembers the feel of Scott’s arms around him, pulling him away, his voice telling him that Derek was dead, the panic and horror and flat out depression he felt coursing through him when he fell. And...he couldn’t shake it.

“Stiles. Stiles?” He blinked back into focus.

Lydia was standing in front of him, hands on her hips looking the perfect mix of concern and impatience.

“Sorry.”  
  
“Are you okay?”

He ran his tongue over his teeth, “Yeah. Fine.”  
  
“Stiles,” she tried again.  
  
He met her eyes, “Yeah. It’s nothing. Just,” he shrugged, “dreams.”

“Like...”

“No. Nothing...not like that. Just...your average, run of the mill nightmares about the horror movie we live in.”

Scott slung an arm around his shoulders, “You got that right.”

He fought the tension of his chest. The same touch was still lingering from last night. He forced a grin. But Lydia wasn’t smiling. Quite the contrary, actually. Her eyes were squinted at him, like she was trying to piece together a puzzle of some sort. He was about to ask when the bell rang and Scott tousled his hair and excused himself for class. The hallways quickly emptied as students flooded into their classrooms. Stiles, was unhurried, however, as he reached back into his locker to grab his book. Lydia stayed back with him.

“You’ve never called them that before.”

He kinked an eyebrow.

“What?”  
  
“The dreams. You’ve never called them that. You called them nightmares.”

He shut his locker.

“Well that’s what they are, aren’t they?”

She nodded, gaze dropping to her shoes, “Yeah. I guess they are.”

 

They had one of their monthly meetings that afternoon. Stiles stumbled in with the rest of them, ready to listen and contribute. If was vaguely like a town hall meeting, more or less. But it was good to have this kind of base, this kind of communication. Chris was there with Allison. She wore a brace on her leg. The Omega caught part of her tendon in his claws, tearing it. She was able to avoid surgery, but not the giant brace or intensive physical therapy. Otherwise, she made it out just fine. She was taking a few days off of school though, resting and getting used to the crutches. Some of the Kynigós were there as well. Anastasia and Milo, specifically with three others who Stiles didn’t know.

He stopped in his tracks when he saw Derek.

He looked...fine. Alive. Normal. There was something in Stiles that felt like Derek should know. Like he should be doing more than standing in the kitchenette, leaning against the counter with a mug of coffee in his hand. His heart stopped when Derek’s gaze swung his way. His face, he knew, paled and his breath hitched. He fought the urge to fling himself at the man, pull up his shirt to inspect the wound he knew wouldn’t be there, to run his fingers through his hair and feel that it was dry and not soaked in sweat from a useless attempt of fighting to stay alive. In his stilled hands, he dropped his keys. The sound of them crashing on the floor jarred him from his trancelike state. He ignored the look of confusion on Derek’s face and the fact that the man was trying to catch his eye. Milo smiled and patted the seat next to him, which Stiles gladly took. He wasn’t sure he could face Derek at the moment. It was like seeing a ghost. It was so real.

And maybe he _was_ being selfish. Trying to prevent a full blown panic attack or any kind of anxiety. But it was still...everything was still on the surface. He could still smell the blood, hear his broken voice, feel Scott’s arms dragging him away.

Once the “meeting” was over everyone scattered. He was halfway to the door when he heard Derek call his name. And considering the tone, there was no room for argument.

This _usually_ happened when they had a few heated words during the get togethers and decided to drop it and pick it back up alone where they could really get into things, by yelling and screaming and throwing things, etc. But this time...it was safe to assume there was something else hanging between them, this time. Scott shot him a sympathetic look as he left, knowing that there was nothing he could say or do to alleviate any of the tension between them if there was any. He had tried it and it had just been worse for all parties in the end.

Stiles flopped back on the couch and Derek joined him. When the final car pulled away and the house was empty, Derek turned to face him.

“What’s wrong?”

He twisted his lips, “What do you mean?”  
  
“Stiles.”

“Can we,” he let out a shaky breath, “can we just watch a movie or something? I can’t...I can’t do this right now.”

Intense green eyes raked over his face, “Fine.”

Without another word the wolf stood and made his way towards the stairs.

“What? Where are you going?”

There was a sudden panic, then. He...it was too soon to lose Derek again. He felt like he was being pulled away again. And he just...couldn’t. Not again.

“Upstairs. You made it clear you didn’t want to talk. I’m wasting my time.”

“Derek,” he stood, panic and alarm clear in his voice.

Shock crossed the Alpha’s face, but he schooled it into his usual stoic look almost immediately after. He paused.

“Can you just...come _back_...please.”

The man slowly turned and descended down the stairs. He arrived several feet in front of Stiles and stopped. The human reached out and gently laid a hand on Derek’s chest, needing to feel.

His heart thumped. Once. Twice. Again. Again. It was constant. It was beating. And Derek was _alive_. He let out a breath and let his legs give, causing him to land soundly on the couch. He slumped back and ran a hand through his hair, working to calm his ragged breathing.

“Stiles. What’s going on?”

He swallowed tightly and flinched a bit when Derek’s knee knocked into his when he took the position on the couch next to him, angling his body to face Stiles.

“I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on. You won’t even look me in the eyes.”  
  
“I,” he inhaled, balling his hands into fists where they sat on his thighs, “I dreamt about you last night.”

Surprise crossed Derek’s features, but he said nothing. Silence hung in the air.

“I...that’s alright? I mean--”

“You died,” Stiles cut him off, “You died and there was nothing I could do and you were gone. It was so real. So fast. And it wasn’t...it was so _normal_ , Derek. And you were...gone.”

A warm hand covered his. In his shock his gaze found Derek’s and he couldn’t look away.

“I’m right here,” his tone was hard and definite. It sounded more like a demand than comfort. But the edge to his voice, the hardness and dominance was just what he needed, apparently, I’m right here,” he took Stiles’ hand and held it to his heart like he himself had done earlier, “I’m here. I’m alive.”

He nodded and dropped his gaze, fingers curling slightly into the fabric that covered Derek’s chest.

“I’m right here.”

The words slowly sunk in and Stiles finally felt comfortable severing the physical contact. He slumped back into the couch and ran a hand over his face.

“Sorry, I know it’s stupid. But I woke up and I thought...”

“It’s not stupid. I have dreams like that all the time.”

He perked up a bit at that, “You do?”

“Of course. There are nights I call Boyd and Erica at 3am because I’m convinced they’re dead. Other nights I drive into town and check on everyone. There’s no...it’s normal. The life we live, Stiles, it’s...if you didn’t have nightmares I’d be worried.”

“What--what do you mean?”

“I stopped having nightmares after my family died. And again after Laura. Because there was nothing worse than what I was living. There was nothing more to lose. Nothing could make it worse. You only get those kinds of dreams when you have something to lose. When you’re scared. If you weren’t scared...you’d be crazy.”

A breath hitched in his throat and before he knew what he was doing, he was reaching for Derek’s hand.

“You’re not.”

“What?” Derek gruffed out, looking at their hands in confusion.

“You’re not crazy.”

“Neither are you.”

“Sometimes I feel like I am, though.”

Derek’s jaw clenched, because Stiles had a bit more weight in that department. The kid was half out of his mind for months, “You’re not,” he assured.

He squeezed Stiles’ hand before releasing it.

“You can stay if you want,” he offered as he stood.

 

They camped out in the living room, letting Turners Classics run in the background, lulling them to a peaceful sleep.

There were no nightmares that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I betch'y'all thought it would be a wet dream, didn't ya? Me too...

**Author's Note:**

> WIP: “I dreamt about you last night.”
> 
> Much love xox


End file.
